Chapter 10

The night deepened as Alex, Daz, and Frank sat around the dwindling fire. The cold air wrapped around them, seeping through their clothes, making the warmth of the fire even more precious. Alex scanned the area, his eyes always moving, ears attuned to every rustle in the wind. He had learned that even the quietest of nights could hide dangers.

Frank shifted uncomfortably, breaking the silence. "This map... you think it's real?" His voice was skeptical, but there was a hint of hope beneath his rough exterior.

Alex pulled the map from his pocket, his fingers tracing the hand-drawn lines. "It's all we have for now. Whether it's real or not, the mountains might be our best shot."

Daz leaned in closer, the flicker of the flames reflecting in his tired eyes. "A settlement, huh? I've heard those stories before. Most of them end in graves."

Alex didn't respond immediately, letting Daz's words hang in the air. The world had become a graveyard for most. But something about the man who gave him the map, the desperation in his eyes, made Alex want to believe. He folded the map back up and tucked it into his jacket. "We keep moving in the morning. If it's a bust, we find another way."

The conversation ended there. None of them had the energy to entertain the possibility of another false hope, but it lingered in the back of their minds like a shadow. The fire crackled softly as they settled into their uneasy sleep.

---

Morning

The first rays of sunlight broke through the trees as Alex woke, his instincts on high alert. The others were stirring as well, their movements sluggish and heavy with fatigue.

"Up," Alex said quietly but firmly. They needed to keep moving—staying in one place too long was a death sentence.

Daz stretched, his body stiff from the cold night. "I miss real beds," he muttered, kicking dirt over the dying embers.

Frank grunted in agreement, shouldering his bag. "Beds, showers, hell, I'd kill for a cup of coffee."

Alex glanced at them both, knowing that longing for the past could make you weak in this world. "Stay sharp. The bridge we passed yesterday... we'll need to cross it again. And this time, we keep our guard up."

---

The trio approached the bridge cautiously. It spanned a wide, fast-moving river, the water rushing below them. The structure looked sturdy enough, but the exposed position made Alex uneasy.

As they neared the middle, a loud creak echoed from the bridge. All three of them froze. Alex's hand shot to his knife, and he scanned their surroundings.

Frank pointed toward the far end of the bridge. "Look."

Emerging from the treeline, a figure appeared—staggering and slow. At first glance, it seemed to be a survivor, but the way it moved was unmistakable. It was a walker. And behind it, more figures emerged. The dead had found them.

"Shit," Daz whispered, his grip tightening on his spear.

Alex's mind raced. They could either fight or flee. "Move!" he barked, breaking into a run.

The bridge creaked under their weight as they sprinted for the other side. The walkers were slow, but their numbers were growing, their groans filling the air as they closed in. As they neared the end of the bridge, one of the walkers lunged forward, reaching for Frank.

Without hesitation, Alex threw his knife, the blade sinking into the walker's skull. It collapsed in a heap, but more were right behind it.

Frank yanked the knife free, tossing it back to Alex. "Nice throw."

"Keep moving!" Alex ordered, not stopping to take in the moment. The dead were relentless. They always were.

---

Once across the bridge, they ran until the sound of the rushing river drowned out the groans of the undead. Finally, they stopped, panting for breath, their eyes scanning the forest ahead.

Daz bent over, hands on his knees. "That was too close."

Alex wiped the sweat from his brow. "We need to find higher ground. They won't stop coming."

Frank looked back toward the bridge, his face pale. "You think they'll follow us?"

"They might," Alex said, adjusting his grip on the knife. "But it doesn't matter. We can't stay here."

Daz nodded. "Higher ground it is. We stick to the map."

The group moved again, this time with more urgency. The forest was dense, the uneven terrain slowing them down, but they pushed forward. Every step felt heavier, but the need for survival kept them going.

---

By late afternoon, they reached a small ridge overlooking the river. From their vantage point, they could see the path they had come from. The bridge was barely visible in the distance, and for now, there were no signs of the dead following them.

As they rested, Alex pulled out the map again, scanning the crude markings. "The mountains aren't far now. Maybe two days, if we keep a steady pace."

"Two days," Daz muttered. "A lot can happen in two days."

Before Alex could respond, a sharp sound cut through the air. A gunshot.

All three of them dropped to the ground, their hearts racing. Alex's eyes darted around, searching for the source. The shot had come from the east, somewhere deeper in the forest.

"Someone's out there," Frank whispered, his voice tense.

Alex nodded, his pulse quickening. "And they're not far."

The world around them suddenly felt smaller, the safety they had hoped for shrinking with each new threat. Whoever fired that shot could be friend or foe—but in this world, the odds weren't in their favor.

"We move quietly," Alex said, his voice barely above a whisper. "No sudden movements. If they find us first, we lose the advantage."

The tension between them was palpable as they gathered their supplies and started moving again, this time with even greater caution. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig felt like a warning. Alex knew that the dangers they faced weren't just from the undead—they were also from the living.

The shot had shattered the fragile calm they had found. Now, they had to decide—push toward the mountains, or confront this new threat head-on.

But as the day wore on and the sun began to set, one thing became clear: the mountains weren't the only thing they had to worry about. The world was closing in, and the further south they went, the more dangerous it would become.